


Glory and Gore

by enferino (Swanzii)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Enemies to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'll add more tags as we progress, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, The Author Regrets Nothing, just read it, who half these characters are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swanzii/pseuds/enferino
Summary: Title inspired By: LORDE - Glory and Gore𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒❝𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮)𝙂𝙤𝙙 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙬𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙘 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙪𝙣 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨)𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙄 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙒𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙪𝙨.❞
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 25





	Glory and Gore

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, my dear. Have a little taste of what's to come with this brief prologue. If you enjoyed, feel free to anticipate the first chapter: "Outrunning Karma" (it'll be posted sometime this week!)  
> I wish you the best of luck.  
> bon appétit~

•PROULUGE• 

Lights were out again. 

Shadows swallowed the cramped little room, each dark corner musted with interlacing, layered webs of silk. The fine thread gleamed a harsh silver sheen, woven texture a sharp contrast to the rugged stone it clung to. 

It’s deceitfully lovely ensemble of intricately detailed (yet deadly sticky) tendrils served well to lure the unsuspecting fly, the boy noted. 

He watched an unfortunate victim struggle feebly, skinny limbs hooked in silvery string, wriggling to no avail. It’s tough coat of metallic purple and green danced prettily— catching an orange-tinted glint of sparse, dim candlelight—as it’s armor unfolded to reveal delicate, erratically twitching wings, initiating a ripple that travelled in tremors down the web. 

Pathetic as it was, he felt a tug of sympathy toward the wretched creature. It was doomed, completely helpless. Alone. 

With a terrifying moment of clarity that felt like being drenched in icy water, the boy realized how similar he and the bugs’ situations were. They were both vulnerable, trapped in a web (well… technically a damp and dirty cell in his case) begging for the predators mercy. A prophetic thought it was; for the arachnid bore it’s venomous fangs, mercilessly ripping into its meal. 

The boy turned away. He couldn’t bear watch that pitiful fly being devoured. And so, he observed; pointedly ignoring the mutilated fly, opting to study the walls instead. These four walls. Oh, joy. 

The boy had what some would call... a ‘love-hate relationship’ with these… unyielding brick walls. 

Some days, that’s exactly what they felt like. Unyielding. Tediously so. 

Other days, these four hazardous walls— (yes, hazardous. He likely suffers from severe head trauma at this point, his captor isn’t very hospitable. Jagged rocks VS. Bare flesh. Place your bets.) —served as an anchor. 

His only constant. His one solid understanding. In other words, waking up to the sight of this grimy cage every fucking day for the past 6 months held the last damn piece of rationality that restrained him from tipping over the brink of sanity. 

And so he waited. And waited. And memorized every nook and cranny. And mentally identified 13 breeds of common fungi. And waited some more. 

Eventually, the boy’s eyelids felt weighted. He wanted to shut them. What difference would it make? Eyes open wide or screwed tightly, he was rendered blind either way, drowning in an abyss of seemingly permanent inky-black. 

It’s fine. He was exhausted. 

The boy, for once in his life...welcomed the aching numbness. He dreamed. 

Surrendering; drowning in that inky-black abyss.


End file.
